


Less Than Human

by sixbellschime



Series: Less Than Human [1]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Turned Into Vampire, Gen, Geoffrey is having a Bad Time, Wow idk what else to say y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 09:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15682404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixbellschime/pseuds/sixbellschime
Summary: Geoffrey McCullum attempts to come to terms with what he's become after being turned into a vampire. After all, there is little he hates more in this world than a leech.





	Less Than Human

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to we_the_mighty for being my beta reader.
> 
> The spacing was bugging me, I've changed it.

  
_"Welcome to the world through the looking glass..."_

  
Geoffrey McCullum awoke to darkness on the cold floor of the unused space in Pembroke Hospital's upper levels.

  
Confusion ran through his mind first, followed by grief when the memory of what that _leech_ did to him returned. Every bone, every muscle, every cell in his body felt _wrong_ and the deep roots of self loathing took hold in him, beaten only by the gnawing hunger he felt in his gut. Geoffrey grit his teeth as he fought the new craving for blood off, hissing slightly when he felt the sharp tip of a canine dig into his lower lip. The attic seemed gray and hazy at first, a half-world filled with shadows. Slowly, so _painfully_ slow,  the shadows dissipated, and in their wake vibrant, sharp colors flooded into his vision.

He sat upright then slumped over, burying his head in his hands. A strangled cry tore loose from his throat. He wanted to cry, scream, hit _something_. _Anything._ Lash out at the world for dealing him this hand

_This isn’t happening._

_This can't be happening._

_I can't be a leech. Not me._

_This isn’t happening._

**_This can’t be fucking happening!_**  
  
Geoffrey forced his body to stand. The smell of blood from the recent fight with Dr. Reid flooded his nostrils like something sweet and the sounds of the hospital below rang in his ears.  The new senses were entirely overwhelming, and for a minute he was afraid of falling back to the ground. After closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he managed to bend over and pick his sword up off the ground and re-sheath it. He found the weapon to be so _light_ in his hands, and he marveled at his new strength for a moment.

  _This power, this is not normal._

  
All the noise from below reminded him of a trip to the shore from his childhood, when he was still young and innocent….before death claimed that innocence, along with the lives of his family.  
  
The day had been bright, filled with the joyous sounds of people living their lives under the sun. McCullum couldn't remember a day after it that felt the same way. It felt distant, like yellowed storybook pictures. Or a fairy tale.

 That memory was soon replaced with another. One of a filthy back alleyway in Dublin. Of a stake being gently placed in his hands. The voice of Carl Eldritch encouraging him to pound it into the heart of his older brother, Ian.

 Ian, who still looked the way he did that night when their father turned him.

Ian,who had been only ten at the time.

Ian, who was all but feral, being held back by members of the guard.

 Geoffrey shut his eyes tightly and shook his head to banish the memory before staggering towards the elevator in front of him. Once inside with the gate safely shut he leaned against the wall and laughed bitterly. The cruel irony of the vampire hunter becoming a vampire himself wasn't lost on him. Maybe it was fate that he'd find himself a blood drinker like his father and brother. Just another McCullum turned leech.

A brief spark of annoyance laced with hunger flashed in his mind. It was….odd. He could tell the feelings weren’t his own but they invaded his mind nonetheless. Was this another side effect of being a leech? Whose emotions were they? Jonathan’s? Jesus Christ, the last thing he wanted was to feel what that _leech_ was feeling. The thirst for blood was bad enough when it was his own - having to feel Jonathan’s as well seemed unnecessarily cruel. The hunger was suddenly but briefly replaced with a rush of unbridled ecstasy that washed over his body in waves of warmth. Even experiencing it second hand it was enough to make Geoffrey sink to his knees and clutch his head, not trusting himself to do anything but wait for it to pass. _Is this what it feels like to feed? Oh, Christ..._

  
Back on a lower floor, the scent of blood returned to his nostrils. This was not the hours old blood leftover from the fight with Jonathan Reid. This was fresh, living blood.

 Geoffrey sucked in a deep breath in a futile attempt to hold himself together, but his vision was already turning monochrome save for the bright red glow of nearby blood. Conscious thought slowed and he followed that delicious, heavenly, scent straight to its source; a lone woman standing still, no doubt entranced.  
  
Geoffrey struggled against the new instinct to bite into that bright, glowing red artery in the neck of his would be prey. His mouth watered and his new fangs _ached_ with the need to bite down and drink deep.  
  
The siren song of blood called to him, pulled him as if he were a piece of metal being drawn to a magnet. His thoughts quickly became dominated by the urge to obey that hunger, yet another part of him was still fighting against it. He wouldn't. He **_couldn't_ ** take a life. Priwen needed him, and London needed Priwen. If he gave in and drank he'd be no better than the beasts he hunted.

 

He’d be no better than _Reid_.

 But _oh,_ how he wanted it. The sight of this potential meal, laid out in front of him. All but gift wrapped. Just missing a bow, as it were. He watched as the woman swayed slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking.

 His mouth felt as dry as a desert as he rooted himself to the spot. He _would not_ stoop to Reid’s level. Geoffrey ran his tongue across his fangs - still so foreign in his mouth - and sucked in his breath sharply. He shut his eyes to the sight in front of him, but the smell still hung in the air. He opened his eyes again and the world regained its color.

 McCullum stood there for what felt like eons until, with a low growl, he forced himself to turn around and walk away.

 Now, how to get out? Leaving by the front entrance was not an option. He barely managed to keep himself from draining that poor mesmerized woman, and he definitely didn't trust himself to be around all of those warm bodies.

 His eyes searched the halls for an exit, coming to rest on a window. Curiously, it appeared to have been left open to the cool night air. Geoffrey moved towards it, then positioned himself to jump. There was a puff of black smoke, a slight _whoosh ,_ and then with a dizzying realisation it occurred to him that he was suddenly on the ground outside when he'd been in the halls of the Pembroke not moments before. A leech power he was all too familiar with.

 Not wishing to risk being caught, he decided he would worry about his new abilities later. He took a look behind him at his point of exit, frowned, and then fled into the night.

 

Geoffrey found his feet drawn towards Stonebridge Cemetery and the grave of Carl Eldritch. The path he took was well traveled, as he frequently made visits to the grave of his father figure when he found himself in need of spiritual guidance. Despite the familiar path, he felt as though he was experiencing the world at night for the very first time. Every noise, every scent, every slight movement was revealed to him anew. The shadows held no secrets from him now.

Up ahead he spotted the familiar sight of a Priwen patrol at one of the key bridges he'd need to cross. He knew who made this group up, as he’d sent them out just earlier that evening. _I should have paid attention to my location. How could I be so careless?_

 

He stopped in his tracks, finding himself unsure of what to do. If he stepped any closer he'd be revealed by the street lights.

  _I can't let them see me like this._

 Before he had a chance to escape he saw Captain Hector Irvine, commander of Priwen’s Whitechapel branch, raise his rifle.

  ** _“It’s a leech boys, kill it!”_**

 The sound of Irvine's shot rang in the air, and the squad prepared themselves for a fight. One with a flamethrower, two with knives. Two more shots from Irvine followed.

 Panic struck Geoffrey. He was in no position to be around his men. Not like _this_. In the dark, he was just another leech.

 “ _Fuck!”_ Geoffrey hissed through clenched teeth and recoiled as the shots hit him in the upper abdomen. Any minute his men would be swarming him. Blood seeped from the wounds, dripping down his body onto the ground. What's more, the bullets _stung_ and sent thin strands of smoke up from his skin, it felt as though they were burning him from the inside out.

 

_Must be the new Orichalcum coated rounds. Glad to know they work, at least._

 

Already Irvine and the patrol were advancing towards him. He couldn't be seen like this. Not until he had a handle on his condition.

 

 _“Shit!”_ Geoffrey swore, staring incredulously at the bleeding wounds.

 

His eyes darted around searching for an escape route, finally settling on a nearby balcony.

  _How the fuck did I do it at the hospital?_

 He focused, jumped, and found his new body did the rest of the work. The effect was almost instant. The shadow, the dizziness, and the _disgust_ he felt for himself.

 

Geoffrey cast a glance behind him and continued on ahead, away from his men. He found an unlocked home and entered, sensing that the rooms within were abandoned. So many of the tenant houses were emptied as a result of the plague. He wasn’t the only one privy of this fact; if he wasn’t quick, Priwen would surely follow. Geoffrey would know. He’s the one that trained them. Yet despite the immediate danger, he couldn’t help but feel a swelling sense of pride. His men were exactly as methodical and ruthless as he trained them to be.

 Acting quickly, he stripped off his coat and shirt so his upper body was exposed. The wounds wouldn't heal until the bullets were removed. McCullum furrowed his brow and removed his scarf. He had no use for bandages, but it sure as hell would work as an impromptu gag. Placing it between his teeth, he dug into the first wound which responded by _sizzling_ and oozing blood out onto the floor of the abandoned home. Blinding hot pain surged through him, though thankfully his cries were somewhat muffled by the scarf. Digging around with his fingers, eventually he found the bullet. The orichalcum burned the tips of his fingers, but Geoffrey ignored the pain as he pulled the bullet out and dropped it to the floor, repeating the process several more times until he was certain all the bullets were removed. Now that nothing was interrupting the healing process, he watched with morbid fascination as the pale skin of his belly began to slowly knit shut. A wound like that should have killed him. Instead, it was another brutal reminder of the beast he had become.

 Geoffrey felt around for anymore bullets and when he was certain none remained, he dressed and prepared to leave. Apparently he was just in time, as he heard voices outside and the tell-tale rattling of a doorknob. Geoffrey jumped from his spot towards a back exit just as Captain Irvine entered the darkened home. Irvine’s eyes caught the jump, but Geoffrey was already gone.

 The Captain furrowed his brow.  Damn leech was a step ahead of him...but he could have sworn it had a familiar face. He’d only caught a glimpse before it vanished, but he could have sworn it was wearing a worn out coat like….McCullum’s? No….that was impossible.

 

Back on the street, Geoffrey wondered if Irvine had recognized him. What would happen? Would the Guard pursue him? The cemetery was ahead and there was so much to contemplate.

 Arriving at the cemetery, he found the gates locked. Luckily, there was a gaping hole in the wall, which he climbed through with ease. The night was deceptively quiet, save for the sound of light rain hitting the gravestones and rats scurrying along the ground. McCullum exhaled sharply and approached the grave of Carl Eldritch.

 

“I know what you told me to do if I was ever turned, but I can't. Maybe I'm a coward, but…” he clenched his jaw, “I don’t want to die.”

 

He idly brushed some leaves off the headstone, “Standing here I'm not even sure what I wanted to say. I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me what to do.”

 He swallowed, his throat burning with how dry it was. He felt the thirst well up again. He ran his tongue across his fangs and over his lips. “I never thought it would end up this way. I never thought I'd become...this.”

 He felt his eyes well up, but to his disgust it was not tears that ran down his cheeks. It was blood. Leech tears. Disgusting.

 His ears pricked at the sound of a skal behind him. It must have picked up his scent. Didn't the bastards ever _rest?_ He turned to see it hungrily sniffing the air. Nothing more than a mindless beast. He almost pitied it. Almost.

 The skal’s vacant eyes glittered in the dark. Geoffrey wondered briefly about who it might have been before it was this, some poor sod who had no idea the creature it would become. It opened its mouth to release a piercing screech as if to respond to his thoughts.

 

“You've got a lot of nerve interrupting me here,” Geoffrey growled as drew his sword. His lips curled back in a snarl, baring the keen set of fangs.

 

In a flash, the skal was on him. Reaching, grabbing, tearing at whatever it could with its claws. Frenzied. Geoffrey gritted his teeth, holding his sword in position to block the beast from sinking its teeth into him. Forcefully, he pushed it back.

 The aroma of blood stuck in his nostrils, his fangs itched, and this time, he let go. He let his sword fall to the ground and his fingers became sharp claws. The skal came at him again, but this time McCullum grabbed it. He dug his claws into its body, jerked the creature’s head to the side, and sank his teeth into its neck.

 Oh, _sweet relief,_ the blood flowed over his tongue in a river of red. The taste of it was heavenly, like nothing he'd experienced before. The blood had a sweetness to it covering hints of saltiness, completely unlike the metallic flavor it carried when he was human. For a moment, Geoffrey felt as though he were floating away. This skal was his prey, and he was a predator at the top of the food chain. Power surged through his veins, euphoria following. He felt good. He felt _better_ than good. He felt _amazing_.

 Geoffrey felt the pitiful creature go limp in his hands. He dropped the body and licked the remaining blood off his claws absently, but stopped when he realized what he was doing. The scent was still heavy in the air.

 With horror he studied his claws, unsure at first how to make them change back. Carl Eldritch would be _disgusted_ with the thing he’d become, but he found part of him didn’t care. He furrowed his brow. What the fuck was _wrong_ with him? The taste of the blood had been unlike anything else, and the way it made him _feel,_ the temptation to _let go_ and chase that feeling of euphoria was so strong.

 

McCullum picked his sword up and sheathed it. He’d never felt so powerful in his life, and although he was disgusted with himself there was another part of his mind that revelled in the strength coursing through his body.

 The sound of footsteps caused him to tense, and he swung around, ready for another fight. His body didn’t relax even as he realized it was just Captain Irvine approaching him.

 “Jesus Christ, Geoffrey! We've been wondering where you were. Hadn't heard hide nor hair from you since you went off to fight that leech at the Pembroke.” The Englishman seemed genuinely relieved to see him, and Geoffrey relaxed once he figured the man was no threat.

 

“Don't worry about me, Hector. I'm fine.” That was a lie. Geoffrey found that, even though he was closer to finding his way, he still didn't know where Priwen would fit in.

 Captain Irvine pulled his makeshift mask down, revealing the massive burn scar on the side of his face, “I don't believe that for a second, sir. You would have come straight home to Priwen to celebrate.”

 Geoffrey narrowed his eyes at the other man,”What do you mean by that?”

 

“Your clothes. They're torn and covered in blood. Geoffrey, what happened?” He nodded his head towards McCullum's disheveled appearance. The coat was one thing, a man Geoffrey's size had difficulty finding clothes and he needed to make things last. The back seam was even in need of repairs. But the state of his appearance tonight was something else entirely. Something about Geoffrey was _different_ , though he couldn't put a finger on what, exactly.

 “There was a skal. I put the bastard down. Jesus Christ, are you my ma now?” Geoffrey sneered, and gestured to the body laying a few feet away. He felt a spike of pleasure from Jonathan, just as sudden and intrusive as the first time this happened earlier, and for a moment he felt off-balance. He nearly stumbled but caught himself quickly, shaking his head to try and dispel the feelings of Jonathan’s feedings.

_Get out of my head!_

 Irvine eyed him suspiciously, “Are you sure you're feeling alright, sir? You're awfully pale.” that leech on the bridge earlier…

 McCullum scoffed, “I'm Irish and I spend my time hunting vampires at night. You're worried about me being pale? Come on, Hector. We've known each other for four years.”

 Irvine relaxed, then a wide grin crossed his face, “You're a right bastard, Geoffrey McCullum. Come on then, let me take you back to the outpost. The lads will be happy to see you.”

 

Home. To Priwen. Geoffrey couldn’t really remember the last time he’d had a permanent home of his own. His usual habit consisted of drifting between outposts, depending on which needed him the most at the time. For the past two weeks, that outpost was Whitechapel. A leech had killed a portion of the men at the outpost along Whitechapel street not long ago, and the captains there needed help in rebuilding. The original outpost leader, Captain Amanda Tilton, had been killed in a skal attack on the 2nd. Geoffrey sent Captain Irvine to replace her, and much to his pleasure he’d turned the district around nicely.

That day, Geoffrey slept. His new schedule came easily, as much as he hated to admit it. Hunting vampires already had him leading a quasi-nocturnal lifestyle. As he slept, he dreamed of his childhood.

 He dreamed of the sound of his mother screaming and the gurgle of her choking on her own blood as the monster gorged itself on the bright red liquid straight from the artery. He watched huddled in the corner, tiny hands covering his eyes. Through a gap in his fingers he saw as it dropped his mother to the floor. She lay there in a pool of her own blood, still reaching for her children, still mouthing their names. He could see the tears in her eyes as she finally stilled. He couldn’t see the monster’s face but he _knew_ it would come for him next. He blinked and it was looming over him. A formless shadow with red eyes blazing. He blinked again. This time the creature had his face. The eyes remained red, with slit pupils like that of a snake. He watched a toothy smile form on the creature’s face _-_ no, _his face -_ and he opened his mouth to scream. No matter how hard he tried, no sound would come out.

 

McCullum woke with a start, drenched in sweat. Outside it was nighttime.

He startled when he heard a knock on the door, “What do you want!?” he snarled.

 The nervous voice of Captain Richards came through the door, “Sir, Captain Irvine wants to know about patrols tonight.”

 “Tell Irvine I'll be right there and to stop being such a bloody nag.” He growled.

 Captain Richards flushed, warmth spreading to his cheeks. He turned around and went back to report to Priwen’s second in command that their leader would be along momentarily. McCullum always managed to make the Captain’s heart race.

 Geoffrey pulled the covers back from his bed and sat up, placing his feet on the floor. He ran his tongue over his fangs, maybe hoping for a moment that last night’s events had been a dream as well. Feeling the sharp points in his mouth brought it all back to reality, and he frowned. Jonathan’s hunger clawed at his belly, on top of his own, just another nauseating reminder of what the doctor had done to him. He groaned, lost in the hazy and fleeting fantasy of feeding from someone. Anyone. To stalk the shadows at night as a true predator. Horrified, he forced the thoughts away.

He stood and ran a hand through his hair. McCullum squeezed his eyes tight for a moment before walking over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulling on his clothes for the evening. The last things he grabbed before leaving the room were Carl Eldritch's pocket watch and a large map of London.

 

Downstairs, Priwen was assembled waiting for their leader. Geoffrey strode confidently over to the table where they waited and spread the map across its surface. For Priwen, it was as if the war had never ended. This was their war now, and Geoffrey McCullum was their commander.  
  
Throwing himself back into his work made Geoffrey almost able to pretend that nothing had changed. A warm, hazy feeling washed over him and with a sick feeling he realized Jonathan was in the process of feeding again. He pulled his thoughts back from being caught up in Jonathan’s emotions.  
  
Some candles were lit around the room and the flames cast eerie, dancing shadows on the walls. Despite the dim lighting, Geoffrey had no trouble seeing, he found, and briefly he worried that his men might notice the way his eyes reflected the light now. The way all leech eyes did.

 

Indeed, he noticed some of the looks exchanged between his men, though they didn’t verbalize their thoughts. A hard stare from Irvine was especially telling.

 He cleared his throat, “First thing’s first. No one is to touch that red-eyed leech. He's _mine_ , and mine _only_. I've a score to settle with the bastard.”

 The members of the guard exchanged looks. Captain Irvine spoke up, “Noted, sir. What about patrols tonight?”

 Geoffrey caught his eye and nodded, pointing to a bridge on the map.  
  
"Murphy, you take Driscoll and Simmons here,” He pointed to a spot on the map near Stonebridge Cemetery, “For their first patrol. You'll be guarding a bridge, it's easy work, good for rookies. Graham, I want you and Smith to take a patrol to the old road. Irvine, I want you to take your patrol to Stonebridge Cemetery tonight." He remembered the skal last night, and the way its blood made his body _sing._

 “I want to make sure there is a group placed at every bridge we can manage. These are key points on the map - no one will be able to come or go without us seeing, and I believe we can intercept more leeches that way.”

 McCullum eyed Captain Irvine, remembering his close encounter. Irvine hadn’t recognized him in the dark, he was certain. Irvine wasn’t an idiot, however, and had noticed a change in him that the others hadn’t so far.

  
The night was young, and many of the guards relied on caffeine to keep them awake through the night. Coffee was becoming popular, but tea was a familiar comfort for many of them. Captain Richards had brewed some tonight, and though it wasn't the best, it would do the job. They all took turns pouring cups, the first being offered to Geoffrey.  
  
He hesitated, staring at beverage being offered to him for a moment. His eyes darted around searching the faces of his men. What would happen if he refused?  
  
He took the cup and set it down, continuing to lay out Priwen's plans for the evening.  
  
"I'm heading to Saint Mary’s tonight. There's still a lot of leeches out there, and I want you all to be careful. Remember your training- Don't do anything stupid. Stick together. Stay vigilant. Any questions?" A low murmur from the guards indicated they understood what was expected of them and they began to leave to start their patrols for the night.  
  
Geoffrey looked at the cup of tea sitting there on the table. He stared at it for a minute, wondering what would happen if he tried to drink it.  
  
Captain Richards came up from behind and clapped him on the back, "I know I'm not the best at making tea, but it won't kill you, sir. I'm sure you could use the jolt just like the rest of us."  
  
Geoffrey grinned, "I wouldn't trust anything you gave me not to kill me. I want you to watch the outpost tonight, Richards. Don't let me down."  
  
"I won't, sir." the captain saluted.  
  
Geoffrey picked up the cup and took a sip. The reaction was immediate. His gut felt like it was being shredded from the inside out and his skin felt as though it were on fire. Geoffrey hadn't felt so sick since he'd become a vampire. He ran for the nearest bathroom.  
  
He gagged, leaning over the toilet, and with a loud retching sound the tea he'd attempted to drink came up. For a moment, he mused bitterly that it looked more or less the same coming up as it had going down. Deep disgust filled him soon afterward, and he curled his lip as he pulled the toilet chain.  
  
Instinctively, he ran his tongue over his teeth. Upon feeling the sharp fangs where his canines used to be anger flared up in his chest, hot and burning like fire and he stood there for a moment trying to clear his head.  
  
He caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror and studied his reflection for the first time since being turned. Faint veins branched out from beneath eyes that looked as though sleep was a thing constantly out of reach. The color of his irises had lightened, as well. He noted how they lit up when a bit of stray moonlight caught them and his stomach turned. He leaned in close and pulled his lips back to get a detailed look at his fangs. Wicked looking things, they were. Suited for a vicious beast.  
  
There was no doubt he was, indeed, a leech. Not so different from many of the leeches he'd killed in the past. Not so different from his father or Ian.    
  
How long could he ignore the predator he felt clawing at the inside of his skull? How long until he snapped, and drained the life from some unsuspecting human? He was sure Doctor Reid would be waiting for that moment. Waiting for him to slip. Jonathan's hunger mingled with his own, reaching almost overpowering levels. His fangs ached in a dull throb.  
  
He clutched his head, nails digging into the flesh of his scalp. He wouldn't succumb. He _couldn't_ . He was the leader of the Guard of Priwen. People were counting on him.  
  
A growl tore loose from his throat and he curled his right hand into a fist. He lashed out and struck at the mirror, sending glass shards tumbling to the floor where they glittered in the moonlight that came through the gaps in a boarded up window. Small cuts covered his knuckles, but they healed before his eyes.  
  
He sighed, and exited the bathroom.  
  
Outside, a Priwen rookie gave him an odd stare. Their leader just wasn’t his usual self tonight. Something was off; she could _feel_ it. She would even swear she’d seen his eyes shining in the dark. Something the older members of the guard would deny.  
  
"The fuck are you staring at?" Geoffrey snarled.  
  
The rookie jumped slightly, "Forgive me, sir, but you've been behaving strangely tonight. I was worried."  
  
Geoffrey's brows furrowed. He was certain he had a handle on hiding his condition, but he was _also_ certain that he'd trained the members of the guard well.  
  
"I'm _fine_ . Why don’t you go link up with your patrol and stop bothering me?" He snapped.  
  
McCullum brushed past the rookie, seeking to distance himself from the conversation. He didn’t want to think about how he could hear her heart rate spiked when he saw her, or how he could smell the rich, tempting blood in her veins.

 Geoffrey stopped by Priwen’s makeshift armory, which was really nothing more than a room with a handful of lockers. He eyed his sword, still sheathed and attached to the belt. He hand hovered over the hilt for a second, but he decided against bringing his trusty blade and opted for the wrist-mounted crossbow he sometimes favored instead, along with a trench knife he picked up during the war. He mentally counted the stakes in the locker where they were kept, and took one of those for himself as well.

 

Outdoors, Captain Irvine was waiting for him. He furrowed his brow. “What’s the matter, Irvine? Trouble with the patrol I assigned you?”

 Irvine eyed him warily, “My patrol encountered a leech last night on the bridge we were watching. It was dark and I couldn’t see its face, but I could see the way its eyes appeared to glow. It was wearing a ratty trench coat, and when my patrol and I fired upon it...it ran instead of attacking us.”

 The Priwen leader’s blood ran cold. He pressed his lips into a thin line and stared back at Irvine, unblinking, “What are you trying to say, Captain?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

 Captain Irvine gave Geoffrey a hard stare. “I dunno, sir. You tell me.” As much as it pained him to admit, he was certain McCullum had become a leech. The leech from the bridge.

 “Whatever you think you know, put it out of your mind.” McCullum narrowed his eyes dangerously.

 “The truth will come out, sir. Even if you kill me.” His commander, his _friend_ , was now nothing more than a leech. A beast to be put down.

 Geoffrey's expression softened, “I'm not going to kill you, Hector. We've been friends for four years. We served together for God's sake.” Maybe the guard needed to change. He'd changed, after all. Maybe not by choice, and whether or not it was for the better was debatable. But he was proof that not all vampires were mindless beasts, at least.

 Captain Irvine drew his pistol, the same one he’d brought it back from the war with him. “Why would you let yourself get turned?” He shook his head. Why wouldn’t Geoffrey kill himself like the Guard taught them? Why would he allow himself to become a leech? How could this happen? He didn’t understand. Geoffrey McCullum had given him a purpose after he came back from the war. He owed _so much_ to this man. To his friend.

 “It wasn't my choice!” McCullum snapped. The implication that he would ever willingly choose this existence for himself cut to the quick. He was no traitor. He could admit that wanting to live in spite of the circumstances was a strange concept to wrap one’s mind around, but ultimately it was still _his_ choice to make.

 He could hear Irvine’s heart pounding heavily in his chest. “It was your choice not to end yourself, Geoffrey. If you can't do it….I certainly can.” Irvine cocked his gun and took aim. The thought of killing his commander pained him, but McCullum would have thanked him for the mercy if he’d been in his right mind. Becoming a leech was a change that took place in several stages, according to what he’d been told. The body first, then the mind, and then the corruption would seep into the man’s soul. It was his duty to end Geoffrey before he became a monster.

 The two men stood there for what seemed like an eternity, until in the blink of an eye there was a puff of smoke and Geoffrey had the captain by the throat. He shoved Irvine up against a wall, using his new strength to lift him with one hand, and wrestle the gun away with the other.

 “Please don't make me do this, Hector. I'm still _myself._ I don't want to kill you,” Geoffrey pleaded. If only he could just make Irvine see that he was still himself, leech or no leech.

 Captain Irvine gasped and struggled against McCullum's grip. Up close he could see the transformation in detail, and he knew he was no match for the leech’s strength. His eyes met the intense blue of Geoffrey's. He stopped struggling, instead choosing to close his eyes and wait for death. There was a serenity to Irvine in these moments, and Geoffrey could even hear the captain’s heartbeat return to a normal speed.

 

McCullum released his grip on Irvine's throat and he collapsed in a heap on the ground, gasping for air. “I'm not going to kill you Hector. I already told you so.”

 In between coughing fits Captain Irvine stared up at the Irishman. Surely if Geoffrey were going to kill him, he'd have done so by now. Hell, he easily could have done it last night. Maybe, just maybe, Geoffrey was right about not being a crazed beast.

 “Bloody hell, sir, you almost choked the life out of me.” he furrowed his brow. Was it possible to trust a leech? Even if that leech was McCullum? Could he trust that the man wouldn’t become a twisted shadow of himself?

 “I can't say you didn't deserve it,” he smirked, offering a hand to the captain.

 “You're a fucking bastard, McCullum, but I'll be damned if you haven't convinced me. I guess you're stuck with me now, you arsehole.” He grabbed Geoffrey’s outstretched hand and was pulled to his feet.

 Wiping the dirt off his clothes he eyed the Priwen leader. Seeing his eyes illuminated in the night was eerie, and he had to admit that seeing such an inhuman change in his friend was a tad….unsettling.

 

When Captain Irvine had settled, Geoffrey returned the Englishman’s sidearm. He trusted Irvine to make the right choice. Their time together in the war assured Geoffrey that Irvine was loyal beyond all else. Jonathan’s hunger nagged in some deep corner of his belly, pulsating deep within him - in time with his own. The thought struck him of how easily it would be to drain the Captain. He hated that he would think these things, hated this new instinct to kill and drain.

 “How are you going to break this to the rest of the lads, sir? No offense, but you're a fucking _leech_ now.”

 Geoffrey cocked his head to the side. “I'm not sure yet. I'm not entirely sure I'm even going to,” he replied, brows furrowed deeply against the lines of his forehead.. Things seemed so uncertain. He needed advice desperately, but Carl Eldritch had been in the ground since before the war.

 “Geoffrey, I think you owe it to the men to be honest with them. How did _this,_ ” he gestured to McCullum, “Even happen? Was it that leech doctor?”

 Geoffrey nodded, “It was.” His lips curled at the thought, revealing his fangs. McCullum could hear Irvine's heart rate spike again at the sight of them.

 “Jesus Christ sir, put those away please. They're scaring the piss out of me. _You're_ scaring the piss out of me. Seeing you like this. It's terrifying.” Irvine grimaced. Geoffrey was his friend and his leader, but it was easy to forget he was now a vampire.

 Until he saw the fangs, anyway.

 A deep frown settled into Geoffrey’s face. These past couple nights...he didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to feel as if being a vampire was _normal_.

 “Reid forced me to drink his blood after our battle. I was too badly beaten to fight him off. I became a leech.” The memory of it still made his blood boil, and his lips almost curled back again before he managed to catch himself. He would have to break the habit of baring his fangs if he was going to remain with the Guard.

 Captain Irvine winced, “Forgive me for asking, sir, but have you….you know….fed on anyone?”

 McCullum shook his head, “No Hector, I haven't. And I won't.” As much as the thirst struck him, he would never feed on a human. Oddly, it didn’t seem he’d have to. Standing here now, with Irvine, he felt stable. In control, even.

 The Englishman looked visibly relieved, “How are you dealing with the hunger, then?”

 Geoffrey clenched his jaw, “I’ve managed to ignore it, save for the skal in the cemetery last night. Do you think you’ll be able to accept me like this, Hector?”

 Captain Irvine furrowed his brow, “It’s going to take getting used to, I admit….” he began, tone still hesitant.

 The Irishman nodded understandingly, “I know it will. Hell, it’s going to take _me_ a while to get used to it, too. Go and join your patrol, Captain.” Geoffrey wasn’t sure what to make of his actions the other night in the cemetery. The taste of the blood flowing over his tongue, the raw power and strength in every fiber of his being….he craved _more._ Just a few days ago that Skal would’ve spelled serious trouble for Geoffrey. But now, with his new abilities, his new _strength…._ it was like tossing around a ragdoll. He suddenly understood why so many vampires lost their humanity and dove headlong into the addiction. It was _so_ easy to start disassociating yourself from your mortal life, so _tempting_. The rush was a little terrifying, a look into what he could be if he lost himself to his vampiric nature.

 “Yes sir. Be careful.” Irvine cast him one last nervous glance and saluted before departing to join his patrol in the cemetery.

 “I’m already dead, what more could happen to me?” Geoffrey smirked. When Irvine was out of sight, his expression fell. The words had been meant as a joke, but there was a hollow truth to them. He may as well see what he was capable of now. What sort of terrifying leech powers did he have at his disposal? The night was young. There were many skals in Whitechapel to deal with and Geoffrey had half a mind to take them all on.

 Geoffrey sighed and looked around the mostly empty yard, he was lucky that none of Captain Richards’ men had seen his confrontation with Irvine. Perhaps being alone with his thoughts wasn’t the best idea. It was usually around this time he tended to dwell on things out of his control. He decided to shut his mind up by patrolling the vicinity around St. Mary’s Church.

 

 As he walked through the streets he made sure to avoid any of Priwen’s patrols through the distant sound of gunfire made him smile to himself. He had faith in his men and their training. He wished Carl Eldritch could be there to see what Priwen had become. _If he wouldn’t kill you for being a leech, that is._ McCullum thought darkly.

 He greeted Father Tobias Whitaker upon his arrival at the church. The crazed priest had a habit of standing around outside the holy building in the middle of the night spouting nonsense about the apocalypse. Right about now, he looked like skal bait.

 “Evening, Father.” Geoffrey nodded to the older man. Strange or not, he was another citizen deserving Priwen’s protection. Although, to be honest, the man always gave Geoffrey the creeps.

 “Good evening, my son. Out doing the lord’s work?” Most of the citizens knew of Priwen and their doings in some way or another, even if they didn’t know the whole truth of the situation. It seemed Father Whitaker thought Priwen to be some group of holy crusaders. It was true Priwen sometimes used men and women of strong faith as another weapon in their fight against leeches, but Priwen’s true duty was to mankind.

“No sir, my work is my own.” God had his business, and Geoffrey McCullum had his. He wasn’t entirely sure God even had a place in his kingdom for him now that he was one of the night’s own creatures.

 “But surely you wish to purge Whitechapel’s streets of filth by way of fire, just as I do?” Father Whitaker’s tone put Geoffrey on edge. Carl Eldritch had raised him Catholic, though he no longer really considered himself religious.

 Geoffrey frowned, “What do you mean by that?” Yes, the Guard used flamethrowers on occasion. Leeches were particularly susceptible to fire, but as far he could tell Father Whitaker had no clue about the undead scourge.

 The older man walked down the steps in front of the church, stopping at the second to last step. He gestured to the streets around them, “The whores and the faithless, my son. God would task us with cleansing this city of their sins.”

 McCullum arched an eyebrow and then narrowed his eyes, “Are you implying my men should set fire to prostitutes and atheists?” Were his ears playing tricks on him? He clenched a fist. This man was disgusting. Geoffrey was _so hungry_ and he found the temptation to drain the priest very appealing.

 “How else are we to deal with their immorality? Their sins have brought perdition to London. The end will come soon, my son. I have dreamed of a queen drenched in blood, and I know it means God has sent this plague as punishment.” The man's heart rate spiked. McCullum could hear the rush of blood in Father Whitaker's veins, could see how his pupils dilated while talking of God punishing London. _The sick bastard was actually getting pleasure from his acts._

 “God has not done this, Father. The blame for this bloody epidemic lies solely on the shoulders of mankind. Nor would God have us burn innocents to death,” Geoffrey growled in response. He found himself silently wishing that this man would end up on the list of Whitechapel’s deceased. McCullum knew Jonathan had killed a great many people….maybe. just _maybe._ Father Whitaker would find himself on the receiving end of his sire’s fangs.

 “Do you think so, my son? London is but another Sodom, waiting for divine retribution.” Father Whitaker stepped down onto the ground.

 

 McCullum's temper flared - he'd heard enough. He moved in close so he towered over the old man, burning rage mixed with his predatory hunger.

  ** _“You do not speak for God, old man. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and stay there until you rot.”_ ** The words came out with more force than he intended and he watched as the priest’s eyes widened and then glazed over. The priest stood there silently, unblinking.

 Geoffrey furrowed his brow, “Father Whitaker?” He waved a hand in front of the man’s face. No response. He grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Still no response.

 Geoffrey swallowed hard and ran a hand through his hair. He'd seen this before. The woman at the hospital from when he'd first awakened behaved similarly. He'd just mesmerized Father Whitaker. Damn near shut his brain down from the looks of it. Too absorbed in his thoughts, he failed to notice the figure descending the stone steps of the church.  
  
"Good evening, Geoffrey. I see you've met Father Whitaker." The velvety baritone of Dr. Reid floated in the night air. Geoffrey looked up from the glassy eyed priest to see the damned red-eyed leech in front of him. His maker.  
  
A low growl rumbled in his throat and he felt his lips curling in a snarl to reveal his fangs. He straightened his posture to stare Jonathan in the eye, "What are you doing here, Reid?"

 “Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Or perhaps ‘think’ would be more accurate. This bond is curious. Feeling each other’s emotions, I mean. Have you felt it, McCullum?”

 Geoffrey did not answer, instead frowning in response.

 “Ah, so you have then. How odd. I never felt this with Mary.”

 McCullum clenched his jaw, “Leave me be, leech.”  


The doctor was still keeping up the appearance of being a polite gentleman, but Geoffrey knew first hand that beneath that mask of civility was a feral beast willing to rip the throats of innocents out at a moment's notice. He could feel that the leech had something up his sleeve, but he wasn’t sure what - Jonathan was keeping that tightly under wraps.  
  
A bemused smirk crossed the doctor's lips as he eyed Father Whitaker. “It looks like you've saved me the trouble of doing this myself. You didn't want him, did you?” He asked casually, gesturing towards the priest. Disgust was building somewhere deep in Geoffrey’s chest. Reid was speaking about Father Whitaker as if he was a _steak_ , not a human being.

 Geoffrey's eyes widened in horror, “Don't you dare, Reid.”

 Jonathan's brows shot up, “So you do want him, then?” He hummed, inquisitively putting his head to the elderly priest’s chest. His heart was still strong, despite the man’s deteriorated mental state. Interesting. Geoffrey felt the waves of curiosity rolling off his sire.

  _“No.”_ He snarled.

 “Good! It’s settled then.”

 Geoffrey’s blood ran cold as he watched Jonathan jerk the man’s head back and sink his fangs deep into the man’s neck, though the priest remained still and glassy eyed. Not even a whimper escaped Father Whitaker’s mouth. Jonathan gulped down mouthful after mouthful of the blood before finally tearing the artery - which shot blood in spurts onto Reid’s fancy clothing. The scent of it pained Geoffrey with how much he _wanted_ it.

  _“Mmmm._ You really don’t know what you’re missing, my progeny.” Jonathan allowed the man’s body to drop to the ground. He stood still for a moment as the high washed over him and Geoffrey by proxy.

 “What the fuck is wrong with you, Reid?” McCullum balled his hands into fists, resisting the urge release his claws and tear them through Jonathan.

 Jonathan rolled his neck and shoulders as the euphoria passed before turning to face Geoffrey. “Nothing is _wrong_ with me, vampire hunter. Quite the opposite. I’ve never felt so right.” He cast a glance at his ruined clothes and Geoffrey felt his annoyance. “You should know, being one of us now.” He sneered.

 “Don't you dare mock me, Reid. I never wanted this. You stole my life from me on a sick whim.” Geoffrey snarled, baring his fangs, “You wanted to make me a vampire? You got your wish. Unfortunately for you, I'm still a hunter first.”

 Jonathan stared Geoffrey in the eye and a toothy smile slowly inched across his face, “Is that so, McCullum? Let’s see if we can’t make a proper monster out of you.” He licked his lips, removing some leftover blood.

 “I will never be like you, _leech_.” Geoffrey’s thoughts went to the trench knife at his side. How he’d love to see this leech at the end of his blade. He glared silently, if it came down to fight or flight Geoffrey would do no such thing as flee.

 The leech interrupted his thoughts, “Attacking me won’t do you any good, hunter. Though I suppose that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re still thinking like a human. I have just the remedy.”  He disappeared in a movement too quick to detect, leaving a trail of shadow behind him. He returned a moment later with a human in tow.

 

A chill ran up McCullum’s spine. Reid had captured a woman, and she was already entranced. Her appearance made his heart break into a million pieces. Her wide blue eyes and dark hair made her look so much like _his mother._ White hot rage burned in his mind but the hunger was so _strong_ . The sound and smell of her blood in the night. He’d resisted feeding from Father Whitaker….he could resist this too. He knew he could. _He had to._

 “I’ll kill you, Reid!” Geoffrey pulled his knife from inside his coat and launched himself at Jonathan- only to feel himself dragged down by an invisible weight. He found himself held in place by tendrils of solid shadow summoned by his sire.

“Now now, Geoffrey, that’s no way to behave in polite company. Say hello to miss Aoife Whelan. Widowed mother of two,” He kept one hand outstretched to control the shadows, “Since you refused my _gift_ in the hospital, I figured I would try again.” He cupped the woman’s chin with the other. Like all other victims of mesmerization, she stared ahead, eyes completely unblinking. Her heart beat at a slow, steady pace.

  **“Let me** **_go,_ ** **leech!”** Geoffrey struggled against the tendrils holding him in place to no avail. He wanted to strike out at Jonathan, to tear him limb from limb, to crack his body open and--

 “No, Geoffrey. Not until I’m certain you’re ready to feed.” He shook his head in a manner to suggest a disapproving parent. “You’re getting there, but I think you just need one final….” Jonathan removed his hand from Miss Whelan’s chin, taking a scalpel from inside his coat and making a small incision on the woman’s neck, _“Push.”_ He let the blood flow freely, and quickly turned his head away to resist the urge of tearing out her throat himself.

 

 _Oh christ._ Geoffrey thought faintly, before his vampiric instincts pushed to the front of his mind. He stopped struggling against the shadows as his vision greyed, save for the glowing red blood dripping from the woman’s throat. His mouth watered, his tongue flicked across his fangs. He wanted it _so badly._ He _needed_ it. He felt as though his body might fall apart without it.

 Jonathan smiled and released Geoffrey from the shadows. He noted with pleasure how Geoffrey’s eyes focused in on Miss Whelan’s neck and the way they reflected the light. “There we are, my progeny. This is what you are now,” he purred, taking a slow step back as he waited in anticipation for the hunter to finally _snap_.

 Geoffrey dropped the knife and followed the scent to its source. Oh, how he _yearned_ for a taste. His body burned with the desire to drink it down - _all of it_ . McCullum grasped her shoulders and swept his tongue over the rivulets of blood than ran down the front of her neck. The very taste lit up his senses. His instincts wanted him to rip her throat out and gulp it all down, but in the back of his mind another urge was growing within the hungry vampire - to pull away before it was too late. The pull was still too faint, and against his better judgement Geoffrey placed his open mouth over the incision Jonathan had made.

Jonathan watched intently. This is what he’d been waiting for; _surely_  the hunter would surely succumb to the bloodlust. After all, even he had given in to the hunger. Jonathan found his vampirism a gift, truthfully, a freedom from the pains of being human. No more nagging parents or imbecilic co-workers. But he didn’t intend to give Geoffrey the same enlightenment by turning him. Oh, no; seeing the monster hunter become a monster himself - being _hunted_ like himself - was a punishment. He wanted to see Geoffrey _suffer_ as he had.

 

Geoffrey felt his fangs graze the woman’s neck, and that urge in the back of his mind surged forward. He pulled back and locked eyes with Jonathan. “ _Priwen shall prevail,”_  He snarled. Fangs bared, he surged forward and latched onto the darker haired vampire. He managed to get down several gulps of blood before his maker knocked him back. In the shock of being attacked by Geoffrey, Dr. Reid let go of his mental hold on Aoife who fell to the ground and quickly scooted backwards out of the way. She spent a few minutes eyeing the two men in front of her before in a panic she climbed to her feet again and ran off for parts unknown.

 Geoffrey watched as sharp claws formed in place of the tips of his fingers. He let it happen, despite a brief pang of horror. If Jonathan wanted him to be a _monster,_ he’d at least be a monster on his terms. In that moment, he did not shy away. He lunged at Jonathan once more, slashing him with his claws which carved deep cuts in the man’s chest. He swung again, but Jonathan easily dodged.

 “This is getting tiresome, hunter.” The darker haired vampire mused. If he could just keep Geoffrey busy a little while longer…

 McCullum growled, “Why don’t you fight back, Reid? Afraid of losing?” He fired off a bolt from his crossbow, which Jonathan caught with a low chuckle. He could not lose to Jonathan again. _This time_ he would win. He had to. _But why was he holding back?_

 “I do not wish to kill you, McCullum. You are my progeny after all, and things are so much more interesting with you around. But you must learn to drop those ill-fitting trappings of mortal life. You’ll be better off if you let yourself be what you are. _A monster,_ ” He grinned, dodging Geoffrey’s blows. “I know you must have fed, hunter. I felt it just the other night. Why are you so loathsome to do it now? Is it because Miss Whelan looked so much like your _mother?_ ”

 “Shut it, leech.” He hissed through clenched teeth. He drew the silver tipped stake and went to land a blow on Jonathan who managed to side-step it with his hands clasped behind his back. “Still too slow, hunter. This is why you should feed more.” The angrier he could get the Priwen leader, the better.

 “Yeah, I fed. Off a skal. It was a mindless beast, not a human. I won’t do it. No matter how much you want me to.” He frowned and rocked backwards on his heels. _Why is Reid still here? Why is he still talking?_

 

Jonathan grinned, finally seeing his opening. With a brief puff of smoke, he closed the distance between himself and Geoffrey and pushed the hunter backwards, catching the bigger man off guard. Geoffrey stumbled backwards, allowing Jonathan to grab the stake still grasped in his hands.

 “What was it you said to me in the hospital during our fight, Geoffrey?” He shadow jumped towards Geoffrey again so that they were face to face. “ _If you’re so innocent, why does simple light hurt you so much?”_

 The intent behind the words didn’t register at first for Geoffrey. _Wait, what does that mean? What time is it?_ He pulled Carl Eldritch’s pocket watch out and his eyes widened when he read the time and realized it was nearly sunrise. He looked to the sky to see it beginning to turn a light gray color.

Geoffrey turned back to Jonathan just in time to see the malicious grin on his sire’s face as he plunged the stake into his chest, just inches from his heart. “ _Adieu,_ vampire hunter.”

 McCullum staggered backwards staring at the stake sticking out of his torso, the way crimson blood spilled out from the wound it made. He growled and fired one last shot from his crossbow at Jonathan before his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Even with heavy eyelids, he could see the bolt strike his target. With a soft smirk, he shouted a snarky, “I’m gonna need that back, Reid.” before falling to the ground in agony. The pain was made worse by the first rays of sunlight rising over the church.

 

Jonathan hissed in pain, removing the bolt from his shoulder. He cast a glance upwards; he was still in the shadow of the church, but it wouldn’t be long before the entire area was bathed in sunlight. Casting one last glance at Geoffrey, he frowned and fled to find a place to rest for the day. That stake and the sun wouldn’t keep him down forever, and he would need to flee the Whitechapel area if not London entirely come nightfall.

 The agony of the sun was unbearable. Geoffrey writhed in pain, barely managing to remove the stake. His skin cracked and blistered before turning a charred black. Logically, he knew from his years of hunting that it wouldn’t be fatal, but the rays still felt like _death._ He could do nothing but scream as sunlight bathed the courtyard. _I failed. Again._ His thoughts turned dim and cloudy, and he just _knew_ that he was close to passing out.

 “ _Sir?”_  came a distant voice. _“Oh God, oh Christ.”_ Something enveloped Geoffrey, cool, dark, comforting and most importantly protecting him from the light. “It’s going to be OK, Geoffrey,” came the voice again, and this time it registered to McCullum that it was the voice of Captain Irvine. “Let’s get you home, mate. It’s not good for your lot to be out in the sun, yeah? My coat should help.”

 “Irvine?” Geoffrey felt so _weak_. Everything was too bright and his skin still felt as though it were on fire. He felt Irvine pull him to his feet and drape one of his arms over his shoulder to support his weight. “We’re not going to make it all the way back to headquarters,” McCullum murmured before drifting back into unconsciousness.

 “No, I don’t believe we will.” Irvine gritted his teeth, scouring the area before finding a nearby abandoned flat. He furrowed his brow. It would have to do. He crossed the courtyard slowly, still supporting McCullum's burnt body. Upon reaching the abandoned flat, he turned the doorknob finding it to be unlocked by some stroke of a miracle and dragged Geoffrey inside. There was a bed in the far corner, far from any windows or other openings that could let in the sun. Irvine hauled him over and dumped him there, still clothed. He'd never been in a situation quite like this before. He wasn't even sure Geoffrey was still alive, but he knew vampires were tenacious creatures and he'd heard they could survive sunlight.

 He'd given Geoffrey his coat to try and protect him from some of the burning light, and out in the sun it was warm but here in a boarded up flat the November chill began to set in. He shivered. Irvine eyed the fireplace and set to work making a fire. He would wait for however long it took for McCullum to heal from the burns.

 

Some hours later Geoffrey awoke with a start in a strange bed. He immediately ran his hands over his body. _The sun_ \- it had quite literally burned him alive. But now, in the cool stillness of this building, he was _whole_ again. He sighed in relief and turned his head to survey his surroundings. Through the cracks in the boarded up windows he could tell it was dusk. To his right he spotted Captain Irvine, seated in front of a dying fire he’d built. _He stayed with me?_

 “Irvine, where the fuck am I?” He rubbed his temples, the pain of burning still fresh in his mind. For Captain Irvine to stay with him when he could have ended him showed the depths of the man’s loyalty.

 The Captain turned at the sound of his commander’s voice, eyes wide, “Oh thank God you’re awake! You were in fucking awful condition when I found you. I’ve never seen a leech burn in the sun before. That priest - did you kill him?”

 Geoffrey frowned and shook his head, remembering the confrontation with his sire, “No, it was the doctor leech. Reid. Did you check the other vacant flats, Irvine? I doubt he got far.” The hunger in the pit of his belly was so _strong,_ but he couldn’t feel Jonathan’s tonight. Strange. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

 “Yes sir, there was no sign of him. Or any other leeches. Should we go back to the headquarters?” He crossed the room to stand by the bed. Leech or no leech, McCullum was his commander, and most importantly he was his _friend._ He couldn’t bring himself to turn his back on the man, even if he was wary around him now. He knew first hand that leeches could be incredibly dangerous.

 

Geoffrey sat upright and swung his legs off the bed, placing his feet on the ground, “You go on ahead, I have….things to attend to tonight.” He hated to admit it, but Reid had been right about a few things. He needed to stop thinking of himself as a human and start thinking of himself as a vampire, and being a vampire meant he needed to _feed_ . He couldn’t bring himself to feed off humans - he would _never -_ but that skal from the first night he was turned seemed to have similar effects on him. Feeding off the leeches he already hunted seemed a decent alternative to starving or drinking human blood.

 “Understood, sir. I brought your sword, by the way. It was bloody weird seeing you leave without it.” Irvine added, nodding to Geoffrey's sword belt resting against a wall. “I'll take the lads out this evening to do a wide patrol of the district. Maybe we can even find Reid.”

 McCullum stood and crossed the room to grab his sword belt. He fastened it around his waist. _That's the last time I leave it behind,_ he scolded himself.

 “Be careful if you do, Captain. He's incredibly dangerous.” Geoffrey idly let his claws out and flexed them. He may as well get acquainted with them, seeing how he was going to have them for the rest of his unlife. He cast a glance over at Irvine whose eyes had gone wide, staring at the hunter’s claws with a macabre sense of horror. With a small snort, McCullum shifted them back into human fingertips.

 “I don't know if I'm ever going to get used to that, sir,” Irvine shook his head. Many of Priwen's men had been shredded by such claws. To see his leader with a set of his own was….jarring, to say the least.

 “You know as well as I do that this is what I am now, Captain. Anyways, we need to get a move on.” Geoffrey grinned, revealing his fangs. “I'm going hunting tonight.”

 

Irvine paused for a moment, watching the way his friend’s eyes reflected the firelight in an eerie glow. Perhaps it would have been better to end McCullum, but his instincts told him Geoffrey was still a good man. His personality remained the same in spite of his monstrous transformation.

 Geoffrey noticed the captain’s pause and raised a dark eyebrow. “Is something wrong, Captain?”

 Irvine startled. “No sir,” he managed to spit out before waving a lazy salute and leaving the flat. Friend or not, he couldn’t bear spending more time with McCullum tonight. It was too painful, seeing his leader become so comfortable being something so _beastly_.

 Alone at last, Geoffrey decided he would pay another visit to the cemetery. He'd have a chat with Carl. A lot had happened in just a few days, but he was beginning to come around to the changes in himself.

 

The walk to the cemetery was quick, and to his immense luck the gates were already opened.

 Finding Carl's grave was second nature at this point, and he knelt down so that he was eye-level with it. “There’s still work to be done. I’m sorry.” He murmured.

 Standing again he closed his eyes and took in the sounds of nighttime London, focusing his already heightened senses. He heard the sound of a skal close by and grinned to himself, tongue running over his fangs in anticipation of the blood it would yield.

 Geoffrey tracked it down to an older section of the cemetery where it and two others were feasting on a body. Upon noticing his presence the three skals stood, their screeches penetrating the night. They rushed towards him, nearly falling over themselves in the process.

 Geoffrey drew his sword from its scabbard with a wide toothy smile. He met the first skal with a double-handed blow to the legs, slicing them clean off. The skal fell to the ground, still howling and reaching for the Irishman. The rich scent of blood filled the air, but Geoffrey ignored it, stepping out of its reach to go for the other two.

 “Come on you bastards,” he growled. He positioned the sword in front of him, tightening his grip on the hilt. He charged forward and impaled the second on his blade, which barely glanced down before spitting foul liquid in his face. Geoffrey grimaced - he clearly hadn’t thought this through too clearly - and recoiled from the pain. How could he forget about those damned diseased Skals?

 While Geoffrey was preoccupied the third came up from behind and leaped onto his back, sinking its teeth into his shoulder. McCullum staggered backwards, losing his grip on his sword, which tipped the second skal over backwards pinning it to the ground. Snarling, McCullum ripped the third skal from his back and heaved it into a nearby gravestone which crumbled upon impact. Lip curled in a sneer, Geoffrey used his chance to jerk the pinned skal forward and rip out its throat with his fangs. He gulped down the blood greedily and pulled his sword out from its body when he was finished.

 Stretching, he shadow jumped over to the third, still on the ground. He knelt down so that he was face to face with it. In one swift motion, he struck. Before the skal had a chance to react, he had his fangs in its throat. The blood was just so _good,_ and even after draining the last skal entirely dry he found that he still wanted more.

 Standing, he brushed the dirt off his clothes and trudged through the mud back towards his mentor’s grave. He paused along the way, seeing the first skal trying to pull itself towards him with its claws. McCullum curled his lip, and put it out of its misery by beheading it rather than draining it of its blood. Finally, he sheathed his sword.

 

 _If only Reid knew what he unleashed._ he thought, grinning to himself.

 

“Priwen is the only real home I've ever had, and I'm not leaving it.” He spoke matter of factly to his father figure’s grave as if the man himself was back from the dead and standing right in front of him.

 “I don't care if you don't like the idea of me continuing my leadership but I believe I still have a lot to offer the guard. I don't even know if they'll accept me like this, honestly.  I do need time to clear my head, I think. Maybe a trip home. I haven't seen Dublin in years,” he mused, arching one eyebrow. Maybe he could finally get to the bottom of his family's murder. Find out if the vampire that turned his father was still around. Introduce himself to the leech that destroyed his life. The leech that started this entire mess.

 Yet so many questions still remained unanswered. Would Priwen taken him back? Could they stand to have a vampire as their leader? Irvine was loyal, no doubt, but what about the others? There were still so many unknowns. At least he was lucky enough to have all the time in the world to figure them out.

 Distantly, Geoffrey could hear the snarl of a sewer beast and he grinned to himself. The night was young, and he would do as predators do.

 

_Hunt._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this bitch is finally done. Can you believe this is the first fic I've ever actually completed? I hope to write many more for this fandom, as well.


End file.
